Ryan's Bed

By Tijan

I crawled into Ryan Jensen's bed that first night by accident.

I barely knew him. I thought it was his sister's bed—her room. It took seconds to realize my error, and I should've left...

I didn't. I didn't jump out. I didn't get embarrassed.

I relaxed.

And that night, in that moment, it was the only thing I craved.

I asked to stay. He let me, and I slept.

The truth? I never wanted to leave his bed. If I could've stayed forever, I would have.

He became my sanctuary.

Because—four hours earlier—my twin sister killed herself.

** Standalone full-length novel, Mature YA themes

• Language: English
• Publisher: Tijan
• Release date: Jan 22, 2018
• ISBN: 9781386660866

Tijan

Tijan is a New York Times Bestselling author that writes suspenseful and unpredictable novels. Her characters are strong, intense, and gut-wrenchingly real with a little bit of sass on the side. Tijan began writing later in life and once she started, she was hooked. She’s written multi-bestsellers including the Carter Reed Series, the Fallen Crest Series, and Ryan's Bed among others. She is currently writing to her heart's content in north Minnesota with an English Cocker Spaniel she adores. To find what to read next of hers, go to www.tijansbooks.com

Book preview

The first time I snuck into Ryan Jensen’s bed was an accident.

I’d been lying in bed next to this girl I’d been introduced to twelve hours earlier at a company picnic. My family had just moved to Portside, Oregon, from Schilling, Arizona, because of my dad’s promotion, so the whole picnic had been new faces, new names, and that feeling of being the newbie on the scene. Portside wasn’t huge, but it wasn’t small either—maybe around twenty thousand people lived in this suburb outside of Merridell.

Robbie would know. My brother could spit out statistics because he was the family genius. Willow was the family artist. She excelled at almost everything creative, or it seemed that way. Piano. Dance. Painting. Once, she made a six-foot papier-mâché dragon that won a state competition.

Trust me. That was a big deal. She was on the local news.

Maybe that was when it started. Maybe she felt as if she had to compete with Robbie.

I’d found empty bottles of laxatives in our shared bathroom, smelled the dried puke in the toilet, and a couple of times, I’d woken up to find her exercising in the middle of the night. We were the only two sisters, so it made sense we shared a bathroom. We’d shared the bedroom too until our pre-teen years, and then we got freeeee-dom! (I’m saying that in the best Braveheart yell I can muster.)

I didn’t know why she felt she had to compete with Robbie.

No one could compete with that kid. He was a walking, talking, and eating computer. Robbie wasn’t ever going to be normal, but Willow and me—we were. Or I was.

I wasn’t the best at anything.

Willow had been popular in Arizona. I hadn’t.

Well, I hadn’t not been popular. I wasn’t in the top tier of the social hierarchy, but I was liked. Everyone knew me. Everyone was nice to me, though, thinking back, that might’ve been because of Willow. If someone came at me, they came at her. And she was not one to be messed with.

Same thing with grades. I did okay. My B+ average made me beam with pride. Not Willow. It was A+ or the end of the world. There’d been talk at our old school about raising our GPA from a 4.0 to a 4.2 scale. Willow was all for it.

Not me. That meant I’d have to try harder. No way.

Maybe that was my role in the family. I was the slacker.

Yes. I liked that. I’d been the slacker in the family—or maybe I was the lazy one. There was a difference between being a slacker and being lazy. One slacks, and the other excels at slacking. That seemed to fit better.

Yes, that was me, and I had been once again fulfilling my role when I missed Peach’s door and tiptoed into the wrong room. I went in search of a glass of water and got lost trying to find her room again. It was easy to do. The place was a mansion.

I didn’t realize it at the time. Both bedrooms were cool, with fans forming a breeze, and large, comfortable beds. These people were rich.

Wait, not rich.

They were wealthy. According to my sister, there was a difference.

I’d met Ryan and Peach at the company picnic—or, rather, I met Peach. I assumed she was nicknamed for her fuzzy red hair. Freckles all over her face. Blue eyes. Blending. That was what she did, just like me. I blended into the crowd, whereas Willow never did. It was the same with Peach and Ryan. She blended, and her brother didn’t.

I wasn’t actually introduced to Ryan, but he didn’t need it. I noticed him anyway. He was that kind of guy. People noticed him, even adults.

Golden brown hair long enough that it flipped over his face and still looked adorably rumpled, hazel eyes, a square jaw, and a dimple in his right cheek—Ryan had a face girls sighed over. Even with him sitting at a picnic table, it had been apparent he was tall with a lean build and wide shoulders. Since his shirt had flattened against his arm, it was also obvious that there was good muscle definition underneath.

The guy worked out.

And judging by the look on his face, he’d been bored out of his mind.

He’d been sitting on a picnic table with two friends, not doing anything. He wasn’t talking or shouting or waving his arms around. He was literally just sitting with his feet resting where people would normally sit, and he’d drawn attention. His elbows had been braced on his legs, and there was an air around him. He’d exuded a nonchalant charisma.

I wasn’t the type of girl to notice a guy and stalk him from afar. No, no, I was the type to notice a guy and then notice the hot dog stand beyond him. Willow would go for the guy, and I would go for the hot dog.

Priorities, right?

But even though I hadn’t talked to Ryan earlier, I knew he was popular. A person just knew, and my hunch was confirmed when two girls walked past him. They’d paused, hands in front of their faces, and whispered to each other. One of Ryan’s friends had tapped his leg and gestured to the girls. He’d looked, and the girls had erupted in giggles before running away, their faces flaming red.

Meanwhile, Willow refused to come so I was on my own, sitting at my own table, feeling like a loser while I stared at all the other kids there.

They’d all seemed beautiful or remarkable in some way. And they’d all managed to find each other, like with my little brother. He’d been at a table with two other boys and a girl. All were focused on their iPads. I was pretty sure they were speaking nerd language, and if I’d walked over, the conversation between the eleven-year-olds would’ve gone over my head.

Again, I was the slacker of the family. I should be able to communicate with an eleven-year-old, but no. I’d been to other outings with Robbie. I knew the routine. He’d found his crowd, and I could tell he was happy.

Then again, Robbie never endured what another genius eleven-year-old might.

He was never bullied because he was smart. He was almost worshiped. People thought he was going to be the next Steve Jobs, and his classmates had caught on, already sucking up to him. Yeah, maybe there was a jealous kid every once in a while, but Robbie never talked about it. If he was picked on, I wondered if he was even aware of it.

I wondered how things would be for him . . . after. Robbie had always seemed happy. Would some of that be gone? I hoped not—stop.

Mind, back up here. Mental reverse, and back to Ryan again.

I should’ve known something was different from the minute my head hit the pillow in his room. I felt warm, at ease, and my body relaxed. It shouldn’t have. I should’ve remained awake like I had been while I was in Peach’s bed. They said I’d be ‘better off’ not being alone that night so I’d been in a stranger’s bed. I was tense and gripping the sheet with white-knuckled hands, replaying in my head what had happened at my new house earlier over and over and over.

But not in Ryan’s bed.

He was as surprised as I was when we woke the next morning.

He jerked upright. What? he asked, his mouth gaping open at me.

I grabbed for the covers, made sure they were pulled tightly over me, and I gawked back at him. That was it, really. My body was still relaxed. Only my mind was alarmed, but then my mind lost the battle. There was other shit up there that I didn’t want to stir and think about, so I gave in and let my eyelids droop again.

I must’ve gotten lost, I murmured.

Ryan and I hadn’t talked—not at the picnic earlier when our parents greeted each other, and not when Robbie and I were ushered into their home that night. Everything was hush-hush when we got there. Mrs. Jensen had whispered something to Peach, and she gasped, her hand covering her mouth as her eyes filled with tears.

I looked away at that point. My chin had started to tremble, and I didn’t want to start. If I started, I didn’t know if I could stop.

So there in the darkness was the first time Ryan and I talked, and it wasn’t really a conversation. He looked to the door like he should tell someone, but I said, Please don’t. I couldn’t sleep until I came in here. I don’t know why, but I can now. I just want to sleep.

His eyebrows pinched together. His dimple disappeared, and slowly he lay back down. He didn’t say anything. A minute passed, and I realized he wasn’t going to. He was going to let me sleep, and thankfully, that was exactly what happened.

I slept.

I don’t know, Mom. I woke up and she was there.

I could hear Ryan on the other side of the door.

Well, I don’t get it.

I don’t either, he grumbled.

I thought it was weird when she didn’t come back last night.

A sigh.

I recognized Peach’s voice, but I couldn’t place where it came from. Then it didn’t matter. I was asleep again.

The bed shifted under me, and I heard a whispered, Mackenzie. A hand touched my arm and shook. Hey. Are you awake?

It was Robbie. I rolled over and opened one eye. What?

He’d been crying. The tears were dried on his face, and I could see two fresh ones clinging to his eyelashes.

He wiped at one, embarrassed. Are you going to sleep all day?

If I’m lucky.

He frowned and then glanced to the door. I don’t want to be out there alone. I don’t know these people.

I scooted back until I felt the wall, flipped back the bedcover, and patted the place next to me. Scootch in.

He looked to the door again, indecision on his face, and then let out a small breath. His tiny shoulders slumped as if he’d lost what little fight he had. He sank into the bed, clasping the covers tight over his shoulder, and looked at me, lying on his side. I moved closer, mirroring him so our foreheads almost touched.

We didn’t talk, but a fresh tear welled, pooling on the bridge of his nose. I reached over and smoothed it away.

Mom and Dad are going to be gone all day today. I checked their phone calendar.

How Robbie could do that, I had no idea, but I wasn’t surprised.

Why aren’t you crying? he whispered.

I can’t.

He nodded as if this made perfect sense. I wish I were like you sometimes. You’re the strong one, Kenz.

Strong? Was that my role in the family?

I tried to muster a smile, but I knew I failed. I probably looked like the Joker instead. Can you sleep?

I’ll try. Can we stay here all day?

I’m going to try.

That seemed okay with him. He closed his eyes and a settled look came over him, one that resembled peace. But I knew it was a lie. There was no peace. Not anymore.

Hey, Kenz, he whispered a minute later.

Yeah?

Happy birthday.

It was dark when I woke again, and Robbie was gone. The door was open, and I could hear the sound of silverware scraping against plates. The smell of food must’ve woken me, and for a moment, I was cross.

They could’ve closed the door. But then the fog left my brain, and I realized it was probably Robbie who’d left it open. He had a habit of doing that, and it always annoyed Willow.

Willow . . .

The small grin that had tugged at the corner of my mouth fell away.

God.

I drew in a rasping breath, and this time, I knew I couldn’t keep the thoughts at bay.

It had been a weird smell. A rich, rusty smell, like wet metal. It made my stomach cramp, and I’d been biting my lip even before I opened the bathroom door. Willow’s arm had gotten scraped earlier when we were moving boxes around the house. If she’d opened her bandage and dumped it onto the counter, I was going to be pissed. She was always yelling at me for leaving my toothbrush and paste on the counter. Everything had a place in her world, and for the life of her, she couldn’t understand why I didn’t remember that.

My answer was always the same: because I wasn’t an anal, obsessive control freak. That usually angered her, but this time, I was going to be the one to explode. Willow wouldn’t know what was coming her way. I was going to wave my arms in the air, stomp my feet, and yell like I just didn’t care.

She knew how much I hated blood.

But then I was there, pushing the door open.

I don’t remember when I realized what I was seeing. I suppose I felt something, because they told me later that I went into shock. My body shut down, and I left it. They said this could happen when a person experienced a traumatic event, but all I knew was that I watched from the doorway as my body fell to its knees.

My hand covered my mouth, and my shoulders jerked like I was throwing up. I learned later I’d been screaming.

Then I was shaking her, sliding on the blood on the floor, because it was everywhere. Thinking about it, I could feel it on my hands again. Warm. Liquids were supposed to be refreshing and cool. This was heavy. It felt no different from my own body temperature. I didn’t like that. It should’ve felt different. Because it was Willow’s, it should’ve felt perfect.

I stood in the doorway as I watched myself. And I kept screaming, until suddenly, I stopped. I choked on a sob, and like that, I was back in my body.

My face: dark eyes, golden blonde hair, heart-shaped chin.

My body: slender arms, long legs, and petite frame.

My heart: beautiful, broken, bleeding.

All of it on the bathroom floor in a bloodied pile.

Feeling a weird serenity, I gasped on a breath and moved next to Willow. I sat on the tile the blood hadn’t touched yet. But it would. It was seeping out of her.

I knew she was already gone. Her eyes were vacant, but I wanted one more moment. My sister and me.

I lay down, just like her.

On my stomach.

My face turned toward hers.

My hand on the floor, palm up, mirroring her.

I watched over my sister one last time before we were discovered.

There was a flash of light. Someone was coming in through my bedroom—Mom. I didn’t look up at her. I couldn’t hear much. A dense cloud came over me, dulling my senses, but I heard her screaming, as if she were far away.

She was shaking Willow.

Time sped ahead. Time slowed to a crawl. Time was all over the place, in patches.

When I noticed the sirens, the flash of red and white outside my bedroom window, I reached over and held Willow’s hand.

My face. My body. My heart—it all went with her, because she was me.

My twin sister killed herself on June twenty-ninth.

We would’ve been eighteen the next day.

Uh. Hey.

It was nearing eleven the next night. Robbie and I had been there almost twenty-four hours. I hadn’t left Ryan’s room except to visit the bathroom, and I was currently sitting on his bed, book in hand. He edged into the room, his hands in his pockets and his shoulders hunched forward.

I should’ve felt all sorts of weirdness, but I was at the point where I’d sit on the roof and not give a flying fuck what anyone had to say. Keeping my finger between the pages, I closed the book and waited.

Um . . . He paused, staring right at me.

He had no idea what to say. I could see the floundering on his face, but he shook it clear and a small smile showed. His dimple winked at me. He raked a hand through his hair, leaving it as rumpled as it was yesterday. I knew why those two girls had squealed. He was all sorts of dreaminess.

I waited for the spark to flicker in me. I should blush? Giggle? Sigh?

No. Nothing.

I felt nothing, and then I remembered how it felt to lay in his bed, and I knew that wasn’t true. I felt some peace around him for some reason.

He scooted farther inside, glancing back at the door before leaning against his closet. The whole my-bed thing . . . He motioned to where I was sitting. Did you want the bed again tonight?

I looked down. I didn’t want to see his eyes when I asked this question. Are my parents coming back?

There was silence, and it stretched past the point of not having an answer. He had one. He just didn’t want to say it.

I shook my head, letting the book fall to the bed. Wrapping my arms around myself, I turned away. Never mind.

He cleared his throat. For the record, I’m not supposed to know about your folks.

I looked back. But you do?

The hesitancy and fear I’d seen on his face melted away to reveal the sorrow, and he nodded. Yeah. I eavesdropped on the call. They’re at a hotel. I guess your grandparents are coming tomorrow.

Oh. Okay. I cleared my throat. Thank you.

Yeah. He sighed. You don’t have to thank me for anything, but I do have to know about the bed. I was trying to tell my mom maybe it was me—like, you could sleep when you were around me because of my teenage pheromones or something.

I cracked a grin. That’s a new theory.

Hey, not all of us are child Einsteins like your brother.

Touché, and neither am I. I’m the only normal one in my family.

But I wasn’t normal anymore.

Yeah.

Maybe he thought the same thing because another silence descended over us. It felt like a sullen quiet too, as if maybe we’d both realized the true travesty of this situation. My remark-able quality had gone from being the slacker to the surviving twin.

Well, fuck. I breathed.

He’d been picking at his jeans but looked up. What?

Nothing. Yes, I’d like to sleep in your bed, if that’s okay with you.

It’s fine with me. He grinned. It was kinda nice, waking up to find a hot chick in bed with me. My friends will get a kick out of that—

You aren’t going to tell them!

His eyes widened. No. I know, I wouldn’t, I mean—I’m not that kind of guy, but my sister has a crush on one of my friends. She already told him. I overheard that phone call too.

What are you? A male Veronica Mars?

He scoffed, but that dimple was flirting with me.

I get bored easily, he said. I shoot hoops to keep busy. You know, like restless leg syndrome? I have that, but it’s my entire body and brain. It doesn’t turn off sometimes.

Oh.

Anyway, Mom said I couldn’t play today. She was worried some of my friends would show up, and she didn’t want anything to get out. He snorted, rolling his eyes. I’ll get blamed for it, but it’s always Peach who tells. She never gets in trouble.

Robbie was beloved. Willow was perfect. And I guess I was the one who got in trouble, like him.

It’s the same for me, I offered faintly.

I got blamed for the laxatives. I was the one they thought had an eating disorder. They ignored the bowl of Cheetos in front of me during the intervention talk.

Mackenzie, your father and I want you to know that we love you a great deal. Looks do not define our self-worth . . .

There’d been other times, like when Willow wanted me to ask for a treadmill. They didn’t see her on it during the day, only me. She ran in the park during the day and then used the treadmill at night. I did the normal thirty minutes Coach Ellerson required from us during the off-season for soccer. I should’ve done more, but Cheetos and being lazy were a lot more fun.

So . . . Ryan pulled me from my thoughts.

I almost sagged with relief. No more memories.

He tugged at one of his sleeves. Do you, uh, want me to stay with you? Or, I mean, do you want to sleep alone? He rushed out, I can do either, that’s cool. You just let me know.

What? Someone knocked on the door. One quick, hard tap.

He groaned. My mom said it’s fine, but she’s going to put the nanny cam on us. So, you know, no messing around. His head shot up. Not that that’s what I have in mind. I mean, you’re hot, but you’re grieving. You lost your sister, so . . . you know . . . He flinched, cursing under his breath. Sorry. I shouldn’t have said that last part. I—sorry. I’m shutting up before I say any more shit.

What? I asked, hoping the upward curl of my lips resembled a grin, or better yet, something cool and maybe even seductive. You mean you’ve never been asked to pretend you’re a grief counselor?

He barked out a laugh. Then his eyes darkened. I lost a friend almost two years ago, so I kinda know what you’re going through. Kinda. Not really. I mean, he wasn’t my brother or my twin or anything, so it isn’t the same. But . . . He stopped himself, closing his eyes for a moment.

Loss was loss, as far as I was concerned. Yeah, there could be different degrees of it, but it was the same emotion. The only thing that differentiated was whether it came suddenly or slowly. But I kept that to myself because honestly, who the hell wanted to talk about that?

I pointed to his television and video console. You have Warcraft?

Yeah. He brightened up. You play?

Got a sudden urge to learn.

All right. He grabbed a controller from his desk, found the other next to the bed, then climbed up next to me. Leaning back against the wall, his leg next to mine, he taught me how to play. His arm and hand brushed against mine randomly, and every time they did, I felt a small but warm tingle.

We played Warcraft most of the night. Robbie played with us too, until I convinced him to go to bed. Ryan and I only turned out the light when his mom stuck her head around the door.

It’s after two, she told us. Time to sleep. She gave me a soft smile. I hope you can sleep okay, Mackenzie.

Me too.

She gave Ryan a pointed look, jerking her eyes to a stuffed rhino on his desk. A red light blinked in its nose.

He ran a hand through his hair. Yeah, yeah, Mom.

Good night, both of you.

The next morning, I ventured to the kitchen for the first time and found it filled with an uncomfortable tension. They could have been sitting in silence before I showed up, but I doubted it. I didn’t need Robbie to decipher who’d been the subject of conversation two seconds before my arrival. It was one of those scenes where you walk in and know they were talking about you.

Mrs. Jensen was at the counter, making coffee. Peach sat at the table, and a middle-aged lady—I assumed their maid or something—placed Cheerios in front of her. I had to stop and take that in. A maid. And she was wearing a blue dress with a white apron over the top of it.

These people didn’t just have house staff; they had house staff in uniform. That was, like, a whole other level. Wealthy rich. That was what Willow would’ve said, and she was right. She was always right.

Mackenzie. Mrs. Jensen sounded breathless. Her cheeks flushed a little, and she smoothed a hand down her hair. How are you? You slept well?

I had, and I glanced over at Ryan, who was coming in from outside. A warm breeze came with him. Seeing me, he paused with his hand still on the door’s handle. His mouth formed an O, and he gripped a basketball in his other hand.

Hey!

Peach made a sound. I registered it in the back of my mind, but I ignored it. I could hear the disapproval in her voice, and I already knew who Peach’s friends would be at school. She’d run with the snooty girls—mean, catty, and looking down

Reviews for Ryan's Bed

[Tosin Kuforiji · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

wooooooooooow I am not sure what to write here. the finale of the book was very twisted.

[Chardonae Rangi · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Please tell me there’s a second book! I’m in love with this story

[Victoria · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

I never write reviews but WOW. This book was amazing and I never saw the ending coming.

[aljaira · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

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[Diana Giffin · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Must Read!!!! What a powerful story. I’m not a YA but I still enjoy books of the genre. Plus this is my first Tijan book and I am a fan now. I plan on reading her whole catalog of books. I love a book that can make you feel, make you cry and pull emotion out of you. All I can say is keep them coming Tijan!!!!!